


You Can't Fool the Moon

by Filigranka



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Wutai War, guilt and anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-08-14 00:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Genesis ponders war (and definitely, absolutely, totally doesn't ponder Sephiroth).





	You Can't Fool the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eratoschild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eratoschild/gifts).

There was a lot of green in Genesis’ life. He liked to think of it as a poetic motif—like a symbol or rhyme, something with a meaning.

Like every good poetic device, it had changed over time. Green of Banora was such a light one, edging into shades of yellow, the green of the pastures, apple trees and farm, the safe harbour of his childhood, the only one which would ever _smell_ like proper green for him. The green of mako was artificial and so bright it almost hurt, the colour both hypnotic and sickly. The dim green neon of Midgard felt modern, splendid, yet lonely. The green of Wutai was deep, dark, like arterial blood, like suffocating. 

People said Sephiroth’s eyes were mako-green. They were wrong. Mako was a lifeless liquid, stale and oily. Sephiroth’s eyes were distant and cold, sure, but definitely full of emotions—the range of their mockery was truly impressive.

It probably said too much of Genesis’ state—his obsession, as Angeal put it, only half-jokingly—that he spent his time classifying the types of irony appearing on Sephiroth’s face, flashing in those not-quite-mako-eyes. From the bored sarcasm during Shinra official ceremonies, through the more nonchalant shade on the official briefings (Genesis could almost hear his “what, two units? you think I won’t manage alone?”, and not only because Sephiroth often said it aloud, shaking his head slightly, so that ridiculous hair of his spilled across his shoulders and down his back), to the jaded, bitter irony that would show in the actual battle. 

Oh. And there was of course the unmistakable, bone-cutting mockery when Sephiroth and Genesis sparred, Genesis doing his best to not so much win as to become a decent opponent, survive more than a few minutes, and land a single blow on Sephiroth’s perfect—as in, perfect war machine, peak biotechnology achievement, nothing else, absolutely nothing else—body.

Not that it really mattered, now. Now, it was just a stray thought, used like a shelter from reality.

A shelter, thought Genesis, kicking the dust—no, the _ashes. _Poetic irony. Rhetorical device.

He had read about this temple-stronghold in children’s books of world trivia. Had had them read to him as a child too small to do it himself, even, one bit of trivia every evening, because his parents cared about giving him the proper, erudite education. He had read about this very temple, one of the main Wutaian temples of Leviathan, one of the oldest wonders of Gaia, full of treasures and art, and ancient books, and rare materia, and—just... unimaginable cultural value.

All gone, turned to ashes and rubble under his boots, along with the Wutaian elite units that had hidden there and, despite a few repeated calls, had refused to surrender. They had wanted to die, taking as many of Shinra’s demons with them as they could, they’d said. Genesis supposed they might have had some hope in their god, too. Or in the temple’s strong walls—it had never once been conquered.

Until today. Walls didn’t mean so much when one has air forces and SOLDIER units, and above all, Sephiroth. When Shinra had gotten tired of the resistance this morning and demanded they prepared for the final charge the next day, Sephiroth had disappeared for some hours and come back demanding the access to a helicopter—and then, when he’d been flown high enough, he’d used fire materia and the thee higher floors of the temple and its famous towers just—disappeared in a blast. A blast so powerful the ground trembled, Genesis was told, for miles far away from the building. In the nearby town, when Shinra’s camp was, things had fallen from walls and shelves.

The surviving Wutaian soldiers had surrendered. Shinra’s delegation had taken their terms earlier this night in what remained of the temple: the basement and the ground floor. They were very pretty, indeed.

Genesis supposed he should be impressed and a little jealous—he was the master of fire materia, but he wasn’t able to generate an explosion like this, not even with the strongest, best materia Shinra could buy. But instead he felt only a certain sadness. Or perhaps melancholy would be a better world. He tried to blame it on his poetic soul—the artists were supposed to feel too much, right? And he was walking through the ruins of one of the world’s wonders, any proper artists or even decently erudite reader would feel _something_.

He just really, really, really didn’t want to look this “something” in the eye and name it. Longing for a place he’d wanted to see as a child and yet, apparently, was destined to burn to the ground?

‘Nonsense,’ he said aloud. His own voice felt strange among the—ghosts—charred remnants of the walls. ‘It wasn’t even you. It was Sephiroth.’

‘It was me?’ echoed the familiar voice.

Genesis spurred, surprised. Sephiroth stood at the ex-entrance to the room, next to the ruined steps. He must have jumped half a floor, just like Genesis, to come here—there was a hole in the middle of said steps, now.

‘Admiring the destruction you’ve wrought?’ Genesis realised he sounded childish, but he didn’t care.

Something in Sephiroth made him childish, always. Childish as in wanting and not quite knowing what, childish as in demanding attention, even the negative kind, childish as in purposefully irritating and nurturing rivalries over the smallest, stupidest things.

‘I saved dozens of lives.’ Sephiroth shrugged. ‘You saw those walls. Our support units, even SOLDIER third class… They would have been decimated before you and I could finish the job. The Wutaian soldiers were willing to die either way. I wanted to avoid unnecessary losses, especially on our side. It’s basic tactics,’ he added, quickly, like he’d expect Genesis, of all people, to accuse him of sentimentality. ‘And quite reasonable, too. The company pours a lot of money into every one of their military employees. We shouldn’t waste them.’

Genesis wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. He wanted to have Angeal near, more than anything, but he’d been sent into a mission somewhere else. Now, with the war entering the crucial phase, Shinra needed to spread out its resources.

Sephiroth was making him into a ball of emotions and then had the gall to act like he was above them himself.

‘This is what all this is to you?’ Genesis made a sweeping gesture, taking into it the whole until-today-wonderful-temple. ‘Shinra’s investment?’

‘The war is an investment, yes.’

‘And us? And you yourself? What, a precious resource?’

Because Genesis catalogued all Sephiroth’s expressions—damn it—he recognised this smile as jaded irony.

‘Me? The investment with an incredibly high rate of return.’

‘Bahamut’s shit.’ Genesis’s hand drew a blade almost on its own accord. ‘Bahamut’s shit, I tell you. You can’t really think this, we can’t really be just this to you—‘

‘I haven’t said anything about _you_.’

This combination of smugness and cowardice—and from the best warrior in the history to boot!—was infuriating.

‘You might as well.’ Genesis took the defensive stance. ‘En garde!’

‘A duel?’ Sephiroth arched an eyebrow. ‘They’re strictly forbidden in a wartime, let alone in the enemy territory—on the front, no less. I can’t indulge you.’

As if a man who’d just blown up half a building with just a little bit of materia cared so much about laws, any laws, whether the laws of physics or those of men.

Genesis snarled and lurched forward, aiming at Sephiroth’s stupidly, annoyingly bare torso.

Masamune was out in a blink of an eye. Sephiroth parried the blow and pushed against Genesis, who needed to jump back to avoid losing his footing in the rubble.

He didn’t feel like himself. His moves were sloppy, his vision almost blurry, and his emotions took control over his body, making him attack too hurriedly and without the usual precision. Sephiroth avoided his blade with an easy elegance—and disarmed Genesis in, like, five moves. The rapier flew out of his hand and landed on the floor with a clatter.

About five moves. It was Sephiroth’s new record. And Genesis’ new low.

He just stood there, looking at Sephiroth, feeling scruffy and mean, his hair falling into his eyes. Sephiroth didn’t make a move to harm him, didn’t make any move at all. Just studied him, too.

‘I don’t understand you,’ Sephiroth said finally. He sounded softer than ever, but that had to be a trick of the acoustics here.

Genesis' laughter might have sounded a little hysterical. He decided he preferred the term "theatrical" either way.

‘Would you like to?’

‘Of course. You’re obviously upset and unwell and I—I have no idea how to help you.’

‘And why would _you_ want to help me? Oh, wait, let me guess. Because Shinra wasted a lot of money on me.’

‘No. I mean, yes, it’s a logical reason, but—‘ Sephiroth knitted his brows. ‘I don’t want to cause you pain. I’d like to be able to… just be with you. Like Angeal. Joking, understanding, talking, arguing. Helping. You’re…’ he hesitated. ‘You’re precious to me. I cherish you.’

Later, Genesis would tell himself and Angeal that upon hearing this, he had made a rapid and brilliant linguistic analysis, concluding that even _Sephiroth_ must know the word “friend” exists and is an easier way of saying what he meant, if he’d meant “friendship,” and therefore, considering how precise he always was, he couldn’t mean it, and _therefore_ the only other option was—

(but to be honest, Genesis probably just acted impulsively and instinctively, like always. He wasn’t Sephiroth, after all.)

—Genesis leaned in, grabbed these ridiculous straps of Sephiroth’s coat tightly, and kissed him.

And after a moment which felt like a millennium, Sephiroth sighed and returned the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks for my wonderful beta, Greenjudy.


End file.
